Love,

Nine years.

It feels strange to write that, because part of me still remembers us at the beginning — younger, different, not fully knowing what life would turn us into. And another part of me feels like I have known you forever, like my life was always somehow moving toward you.

On 29 June 2017, something started that became so much bigger than I could have imagined. It became love, yes, but not only love in the easy, pretty way people usually talk about. It became real life. It became home. It became family. It became arguments and forgiveness, stress and laughter, dreams and fear, tired nights and soft mornings, children, responsibilities, plans, messes, and moments where I looked at you and thought, “Yes. Still him.”

I love you in a way that is not simple anymore. It is not just butterflies or romance or beautiful words. It is deeper than that now.

I love you because I know you.

I know the way your mind never stops. I know the way you get excited when an idea appears in your head. I know the way you can be stubborn beyond reason. I know the way you can drive me completely insane and still be the only person I want next to me at the end of the day. I know your chaos, your brilliance, your flaws, your softness, your pride, your tiredness, your dreams. And after knowing all of that, I still choose you.

Actually, I think I choose you even more now.

Because now I don’t love some perfect version of you. I love the real you. The one I have lived with, grown with, cried with, laughed with, built with, fought with, forgiven, needed, missed, and loved through all the different seasons of our life.

One of the most beautiful things about us is that our love became a family. It became Ikuna. It became Damiane. It became two little boys who carry pieces of you in them, and every time I see that, something in my heart breaks and heals at the same time. You are part of them forever. And because of that, you are part of every future I imagine.

I love watching you be their father. I love seeing the parts of you that come out through them. I love that our story is not just ours anymore — it lives in them too.

And I love us.

Not because we are perfect. We are definitely not. We are emotional, stubborn, chaotic, tired, ambitious, dramatic sometimes, and probably impossible for anyone else to fully understand. But we are us. And there is something about that which I would not trade for anything.

I love the little things too. The things that would sound ordinary to someone else, but mean everything to me. Your voice. Your expressions. The way you explain things. The way you believe in ideas before anyone else can see them. The way you make life feel bigger. The way you can make me laugh when I do not want to. The way you are still my favorite person to tell things to. The way, even after nine years, I still want your attention, your hug, your opinion, your love.

You are my safest chaos.

You are the person who made my life louder, fuller, harder, funnier, more beautiful, and more meaningful. You are my husband, my family, my teammate, my headache, my comfort, my favorite problem, and my favorite solution.

Thank you for these nine years. Thank you for growing with me, even when growth was not easy. Thank you for staying. Thank you for being the father of my children. Thank you for dreaming with me. Thank you for being exactly the kind of impossible person my heart chose.

Happy 9-year anniversary.

I loved the boy I met.
I love the man you became.
And I will love every version of you that life brings next.

I still choose you.

Always